Dead Beautiful
Page 39

“What just happened?” I asked, my lips quivering. “And why were you out there tonight?”
“I was following them.”
Dante glanced out the window to make sure Mrs. Lynch wasn’t coming, then turned to me. I must have looked surprised at finally getting a real answer from him, because he smiled.
“I figured you wouldn’t stop asking until I told you, so there it is. I was following them. And you,” he said. “Once I realized you were there.”
“Why?”
“I think they’re up to something. And no, I don’t know what. I’m just getting used to your questioning routine, so please take it easy on me.”
He was still wearing his clothes from school, his blue oxford shirt now soaked through and matted against his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking the water from it.
His eyes traveled across my body, and a slow smile spread across his face, reminding me that I was in my pajamas. I pulled at my T-shirt, which was now transparent and clinging to my body.
“What?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
He let out a laugh. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “You seem to be out of dress code.”
“I didn’t realize we were going to class.”
“Well, as your teacher, I should make you write lines.”
I gave him a challenging look. “What do you want me to write?”
He took a step toward me. “Cupido,” he uttered. His voice was full and rich, as if he weren’t uttering just a word, but a command.
I picked up a piece of chalk. “How do you spell it?” I asked, my voice shaking.
Dante wrapped his fingers around mine, guiding my hand. A prickling sensation climbed up my arm, and I shivered. “What does it mean?”
When he spoke, he was right behind me.
“The thing about Latin is that you can say so much more than in any other language. The words, the tenses. They’re different, they evolve—it makes it easier to explain what you’re thinking. Do you ever feel like you want to say something, but you don’t know how to say it?”
I nodded. Mostly when I was with him.
“Can I try something?” he whispered.
He turned me toward him, brushing his hand across my cheek, and played with the loose wisps of hair around my neck. His fingers tickled my skin, and suddenly I lost all of my words. I swallowed and nodded.
My heart began to beat faster, and everything inside of me began to tremble like the leaves of a tree rustled by an autumn breeze.
My legs moved without me, and I stepped closer to him until our legs were tangled. He grazed his fingers down my thigh, and with a sudden, almost uncontrollable force, pressed me against the blackboard, the slate cool against my skin. Lacing his fingers through mine, he pulled me toward him until our lips were barely touching. His eyes were ravenous as they crawled over me; something about him felt raw and dangerous; even if I’d wanted to push him away, I knew I couldn’t. I closed my eyes, waiting for the kiss, but it never came. His grip softened, and he ran his hand gently through my hair as he kissed my neck, my shoulders, my arms. I closed my eyes, my breath growing shallow as I felt his mouth against my skin, his hand on the small of my back, sending shivers up my spine.
“Renée,” he sounded out, as if he were learning my name for the first time.
I wanted to say something back, but I didn’t have the words to describe what I was feeling. I thought I knew what it meant to kiss, to touch, to embrace, but this was something that I’d never felt before.
I closed my eyes and raised my hand to his face, passing it over his nose, his eyes, his lips, memorizing the way they felt. He pulled me toward him, and without thinking, I leaned into his kiss.
But just before our lips met, he turned his head. “Not on the lips.”
Suddenly, everything inside me began to deflate. “What?”
“Do you feel different when you’re around me?” he asked.
I nodded.
“How?”
“My skin tingles and everything goes numb, like my body is starting to freeze. Do you feel it too?”
He took my hand and traced it down his arm. He closed his eyes. “Desire,” he breathed. “That’s what it means. And yes, I feel it too.”
I leaned against the blackboard, my chest warm and flushed. “Why...why won’t you kiss me?”
He let his hand slide down my leg, and I felt my insides melt. “I want to. I’ve always wanted to. But please, just trust me.”
“Why do I feel so strange whenever I’m near you?”
He leaned his forehead against mine, his hair brushing against my cheeks. “I don’t know.”
Outside, the rain had let up. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”
Our fingerprints and chalky silhouettes were imprinted on the blackboard, smudging the Latin scrawled across it. Dante slipped his hand into mine, and together we escaped from the building, into the night. We didn’t speak. We didn’t have to. We both knew that some things couldn’t be translated into words.
“Where were you?” Eleanor asked. She’d been pacing around the room when I climbed in through the chimney. “You’re soaking wet!”
“I was outside. And then in Horace.”
“Horace Hall? What were you doing there? And why did you run off like that?”
While wiping my face with a towel, I told her about my father, about Vivian and Gideon, about Dante and their conversation in Latin, about Mrs. Lynch, and finally about our time in the classroom.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up. You made out with Dante Berlin in Horace Hall?”
“Sort of...”
She gave me an expectant look, waiting for me to continue. “Well, was it good?”
I considered all of the events that led up to the moment in the Latin classroom. Why wasn’t my father by the tree, like I’d seen during the séance? And what had happened between Dante and his old friends? Why wouldn’t Dante kiss me? It was confusing and frightening and unexplainable and surprising. And strangely wonderful. It didn’t even matter anymore if I liked it or if I didn’t like it. I felt something...something too delicate and ephemeral for words. “It was unreal.”
“So you thought you were going to see your parents, but instead you found Dante and Vivian and Gideon?”